


In Search of a Big Sky Song

by Giddygeek



Category: Big Eden (2000)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giddygeek/pseuds/Giddygeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d never imagined that Henry would come home, and teach Pike how to dance with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Search of a Big Sky Song

There was something at the end of Henry's movements, something like water droplets tossed up into the air when the river washed over the rocks. A little flourish you almost wouldn't notice, except for how it made Henry who he was.

Who he was and had always been. Pike had seen that in him all along. Even when they were all gawky teenagers together, Henry had been different; water over rocks, smoke over coals, the flicker of movement caught in the corner of your eye when a deer spotted you first and disappeared into the trees.

It surprised Pike a little that Henry grew up to paint. It wasn't that he hadn't realized Henry had talent in his heart, had a need and the ability to express himself. It was just that somehow he'd imagined Henry's talent would show itself through movement, not through something permanent and motionless like paint on a canvas.

He'd imagined that other people would see the beauty in the way Henry rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and smiled through his lashes. He'd imagined that someone would notice how Henry tilted his head and looked at people when they talked to him. He'd imagined that Dean would understand what Henry's careful affection meant, the way it was both restrained and demanding, and he'd imagined--

Well. Pike had imagined a lot of things about Henry Hart; had imagined them when he was a teenager who didn't understand his fascination with the new boy in school, had imagined them all the way into adulthood, and had figured he'd keep on imagining for the rest of his life.

But somehow he never imagined that someday Henry would come home again and teach Pike how to dance, how to dance with him--

He'd never even dreamed of imagining it but somehow, in the end, Pike was the one who asked to learn.

~

"Come on." Henry was smiling up at him. He had his hands on Pike's arm, had tugged at him once and then again, a wave against the shore, patient and determined to wear away at the edge of a continent. "It's easy. I'll show you how."

Pike shook his head.

"Aww." Henry came closer. He was crowding Pike a little, up against the kitchen counter, but careful not to box him in. He smelled good, like cedar, paint and the wine that he'd been drinking. His eyes were light and full of affection, warmth. "We don't have to but I think it'd be. I don't know, Pike, I just think it'd be nice."

"I don't want to," and Pike tipped his head, twisted his hand in the air; he meant, I don't want to crush you as much as he meant, I don't want to embarrass myself as much as he meant, I don't know how. He couldn't meet Henry's gaze.

For a long moment, Henry was silent. Pike could practically feel him thinking. It wasn't entirely a comfortable feeling to be aware of Henry so close and so focused on him. Pike could feel himself caving in--not giving in, but caving. His shoulders rounded, his head down.

Then Henry squeezed his arm and let him go. "I get that," he said. Pike looked up, startled, because he could hear that Henry did. Henry understood. "But listen. If you ever want to learn, you know I'll want to teach you. Right?"

Pike could see how much he did want it. It just didn't make any sense.

Henry had come to Big Eden a boy who moved like he understood his body, at a time when Pike was growing faster than he could handle. Pike had been too big, lumbering and awkward then, and had never been able to figure how to be anything different as a man.

It didn't make sense for Henry to want to be close to him, but then again, it didn't make sense for Henry to stay in Big Eden when he could go home to New York, either. It didn't make sense for Henry to touch Pike's arm so carefully when he could be trying to make things work with Dean. It didn't make sense, but it was happening.

Pike was learning to believe that was the important part.

So Pike took a deep breath. He looked Henry in the eye, stood up straight, and smiled a little. "And you know where to come if you want to learn to cook."

Henry laughed up at him. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, his hands warm and steady on Pike's arm. "I'll never want to learn to cook," he said. "But tell you what, let's leave those offers open."

~

The thing was that Henry really didn't want to learn to cook--not in the way where Pike didn't want to learn to dance. Pike's way was the one where he did want to learn, but he was afraid.

Henry's way was to get water boiling and be distracted by the slow growth of bubbles at the bottom of the pan. Henry burned toast and liked the color. Henry liked the gleam of sunlight on fish scales and hated the feel of raw meat.

He didn't want to learn to cook, but he liked to come to Pike's place and watch him slice and roast and stir. He liked to put his hand on Pike's shoulder and study the deepening burgundy of Pike's tomato sauce. He wrapped his arms around Pike's waist and tucked his face against Pike's back and talked dreamily about his grandmother's terrible roasts. He kissed Pike while the cake was setting, and teased him about his quiche. He didn't want to learn to cook, but that worked out okay; Pike didn't want to stop feeding him, and loved all the ways Henry ruined everything.

He showed up at Henry's door more nights than not, nights when Henry didn't show up at his. They didn't talk about it much, the cooking and what it meant, but the first time Henry kissed Pike was after he'd emptied another box of treasures. There were biscuits and ham and a salad Pike particularly enjoyed putting together, all dark greens and bright vegetables.

He was putting down plates, a set for each of them. He didn't looking at Henry; he hadn't been invited to dinner but didn't want to go. Didn't think Henry would ask him to go.

And Henry didn't. He emptied the box, set down the plate of biscuits and was silent. Pike carefully lined up forks, knives, glasses.

"Pike," Henry said. There was a sort of helpless softness in his voice that froze Pike where he stood. Henry came around the table slowly and put a hand on his arm, twisted his fingers in the sleeve of Pike's shirt. Pike fought the urge to bolt by looking into Henry's eyes.

"You're so sweet." Henry shook his head. "I can't get over it. I can't figure it out, what I did to deserve--"

Pike felt his eyes go wide. "You don't have to deserve--"

Henry ducked his head, rubbed a hand over the back of his neck in that way he had, faint smile curving his lips. "No, I know that. But I still just can't get over this."

Pike thought about that. "You don't have to get over it, either," he said slowly, and he knew he had never said a more true thing. Henry didn't have to get over this; he could have it forever if he wanted.

He took a deep breath, watching Henry. He couldn't get over some things himself. Like having this out in the open, like being so close to Henry, like having Henry choose to be so close to him. He understood.

He said, "It'll still. It's just what I'd like to go on doing, now."

Henry closed his eyes; Pike watched his lashes flutter against his cheeks. Then he stepped forward, tilted his head up and kissed Pike gently, just a brush of lips against his.

Pike's hands clenched at his sides and he had to fight the urge to move back. It wasn't that he didn't want to kiss Henry; he wanted it too much, suddenly and overwhelmingly, wanted to reach out and hold on but wasn't sure he was allowed yet. It was better to be safe than sorry, infinitely better; he pressed into the kiss, just a little, carefully.

Henry drew back, just a little. "Thank you," he whispered, close to Pike's ear, and Pike nodded, his eyes closed.

Then Henry stepped back. Pike opened his eyes and looked at Henry, feeling the kiss still, wanting it more, while Henry looked back at him, wide-eyed.

Then Henry took a deep breath, held it a second. He let it out on a gusty sigh and quirked a smile. He said, "Well. I guess we should eat. This is beautiful, Pike. You should write a cookbook--you really should."

~

Pike's cookbook would come to contain:

A roast for Christmas, with tiny new potatoes and carrots glazed sweetly.

A chicken soup for when Henry had a cold over the New Year and rattled his way around the store pretending he wasn't too sick to be upright and too tired to go home. Tea in a blue mug cupped between Henry's hands. Henry trailing the long sleeves of one of Pike's shirts when he raised the mug to drink, the shirt too large for him by far. Henry looking up at him, red-nosed and a little feverish but content, at home.

Henry tucked into his bed to sleep after half a movie with fresh-popped, buttered popcorn; the first thing Henry had really been able to smell in days, he swore. Pike sleeping on the couch with Frances tucked behind his knees, because Henry was ill and Pike. Was Pike.

Cookies for Valentine's Day, chocolate with chocolate chips. Henry ate two.

Pike found a tiny canvas panel in his truck the day afterward. It was painted with soft reds and yellows, shapes that might have been stars but weren't. Pike traced the point at the bottom, the soft sweeps at the top.

He glued the canvas to the cover of the binder he'd long ago started using as his cookbook, and moved the cookie recipe to the front, with Henry's other favorites.

~

"Wheeler tells me that Henry Hart's truck was here mighty late last night," Jim said. He was leaned back in his chair, coffee cup braced on his belly, eyes closed and red rim of his hat pulled down low. Jim, Pike realized, was being casual.

Pike busied himself, taking inventory of the cigarettes again. "We watched a movie."

Jim harrumphed. "Noticed myself that it was gone mighty early this morning."

Pike dropped a carton. He stared down at it, sharp bright colors on the dingy old floor.

"You're not still courting that boy, are you?" Jim asked him, a little bemused, a little frustrated; Pike could understand that.

"No," he said, because he wasn't. He had done his courting. He had made a decision the day he rushed to the airport to ask Henry not to leave.

"Then what in high heaven are you doing?" Jim let the front legs of his chair hit the ground with a thump. "You gotta make your move, Pike! You can't just go on cooking and watching movies and looking at the man--you've gotta do something."

Pike picked up the cigarette carton, held it in his hands and turned it over and over while he thought. "I can go on cooking and watching movies and looking at him," he said finally. He put the carton down and lined it up neatly with the others. "As long as he needs me to go on doing it."

Jim took a sip of his coffee, then put his chair back on its two hind legs, settling down again. "Well all right," he said. "Just. Promise me I'll see that truck here one morning before I die of old age and anticipation. C'mon now and promise me that, at least."

"I promise," Pike said quietly. "Although you'll probably die of coffee and gossip first."

"True enough." Jim laughed. "And speaking of, did you hear the news about Carol and Jenny? They're gonna make Lloyd a grandpa soon--" and he settled in for a good session, while Pike, smiling to himself just a little, settled in to listen.

~

Spring came early. The snow melted, the flowers budded, the trees were green; Pike couldn't keep up with the demand for blueberries, strawberries, bait and beer.

Henry sat on the counter in his kitchen. He kicked his heels against a cupboard like a kid. He was watching Pike make a cobbler for the widow Thayer, stuck home after a fall and miserably lonely.

"Mary Margaret told me once that she could tell Mrs. Thayer hadn't made one of your tarts," he said. He crossed his arms over his chest and settled in. "'A man made this,' she said. 'A woman wouldn't make this.' How do you think she knew?"

Pike slid the pan into the oven and checked the timer. When he was certain it was set right--things never cooked quite the same in Henry's kitchen as they did in his--he walked over to stand in front of Henry, looking at him. Henry smiled and made space between his knees.

Pike moved closer, close enough that he could imagine what it would be like to take that last step. He thought that Henry would tuck his knees against Pike's hips, lean forward and kiss him. He thought a lot of things, then said, "I was thinking of you. When I made it. Thinking of what you'd like--a heavy shell. The right kind of sweet. Not delicate."

Henry's smile widened, went even warmer; it was the kind of smile that lit Pike up somewhere inside. "A man's tart, huh?"

"Yours," Pike said. He ducked his head. "You don't like a lot of sweets. I'd figured it out by then."

"You figured a lot of things out," Henry said. "Some of them much earlier than I did." He scooted forward then, and just like Pike had imagined, he wrapped his legs around Pike's hips; he wrapped his arms loosely behind Pike's back.

"I like that you knew what I'd like," he said. He looked up, still smiling. Everything about him was an invitation, a welcome, hearth and home, a bed under richly glowing stars in a dark blue sky.

"I liked knowing," Pike said, voice low and rumbling. He leaned forward and kissed Henry, slid his tongue against Henry's and put his hands palm-down on the counter, planted them there to keep them from doing something dumb.

He wanted them to do something dumb. But at the back of his mind there was the thought, always, of how he had wanted this for so long, and Henry had only known for a few short months. He thought maybe Henry needed time to catch up. He was trying to be careful.

Henry's hands held him tight, then slid lower to rest against the small of his back. Henry's mouth was warm against his and sweet, slow and easy but not careful. Not careful at all.

They kissed like that until the timer went off and then longer, until Pike had to curse and rescue the cobbler, while Henry laughed and laughed, and rubbed his fingertips against his kiss-swollen lips.

~

Grace bustled into the store, talking at Pike before she even had him in sight.

"I won't take no for an answer," she said briskly. "It'll be lovely weather tonight, we've got the grill out and the ribs marinating; you'll bring Henry to my house for seven sharp, you hear me, Pike Dexter?"

Pike ducked his head and set about organizing bait in the cooler.

"I'm not telling Henry," Grace said. "So either you'll bring him or he'll sit alone and sad inside that empty house of his, with nothing to eat but burned toast and beer."

"Leftovers," Pike said. "I made meatloaf."

"He'll burn the meatloaf." Grace tapped him on the shoulder. "Bring him over, Pike. Come over with him. It's spring, and I'd like to celebrate."

Pike stared down at the white paper bags under his hands, shuffled them around some. He and Henry went out to dinner sometimes. They had gone to Christmas brunch at Grace's and played board games with Carol and Jenny, had roasted marshmallows with Dean, Anna and the kids.

It was more socializing than he'd done since he was a boy and sometimes it overwhelmed him. He liked it though, and he liked the way Henry lit up for the people he loved; he enjoyed watching Henry talk with his hands, grinning with his eyes all crinkled up.

He especially liked the proprietary way Henry would touch his shoulder or lean against him, right out in front of anyone and everyone.

"I could heat the meatloaf." He could feel Grace's hackles rising and smiled to himself. "I wanted to try it with different gravy," he said. "Bourbon."

"Pike Dexter, don't think you're too old or too big for me to drag you over my knee," Grace threatened.

Pike couldn't say he thought she didn't mean it, but his days of being intimidated by her were long over. He chuckled, low and amused. "I'll tell him," he promised. Then he accepted her delighted kiss on the cheek when she shoved his shoulder to drag him out of the cooler.

He got overwhelmed sometimes, but less often now--and besides, Henry probably would burn the meatloaf.

~

Pike walked into the Harts' house without knocking. It had taken Henry a lot of talking to get him to come in without waiting by the door first, and he still couldn't quite manage it without wanting to apologize to Mr. Hart. But Henry's smile had a special light when he looked up and saw Pike coming through the door, and it made the feeling of intruding disappear like it had never been.

Henry was painting. Pike was used to watching him at his easel and liked to see the easy way he moved, hips swaying, shuffling his bare feet on the old wood floor. It wasn't hard to remember the Henry he'd met all those years ago, the one he'd thought would grow up to dance on a stage, when he watched Henry paint.

"Henry," he said, and Henry looked up with a slowly brightening smile. Pike had come to love that smile enough that the power of it didn't scare him, anymore.

"Hey Pike." Henry dropped his brush into a bucket, tossed his towel down on the table, padded across the room. When he stretched up for a kiss, his hand settled against Pike's side. Pike put a hand on his back and let himself hold Henry closer.

"That's nice," Henry murmured, kissing him again. Pike didn't know, sometimes, how it was so easy to find so much patience; to wait most of his life for something and still go on waiting.

"Grace asked me to ask you to go over to her place for dinner tonight," he said. He curled his fingers in the back of Henry's shirt. "Ribs on the grill. I'm invited too."

"Oh, you're invited too?" Henry leaned back against his hand and laughed a little, amused. "I never would have guessed, Grace disliking you so much and all. But that sounds good. What time?"

"Soon."

Henry kissed him again. "That's a shame. You sure you want to go? We could stay in--I could heat up that meatloaf--"

"She said she'd spank me," Pike said. "I think she'd do it, too."

"Well, I can't have that," Henry said. He batted his lashes up at Pike even as he slid his hands down and squeezed Pike's ass hard enough to make him start. Henry grinned then pulled back, hands sliding up to Pike's waist, and Pike let him go; it wasn't easy, even though he knew Henry would come back.

~

Dean passed Pike a plate while Henry rolled around in the grass with the kids, one boy under each arm and Becky dancing around them, playing at being a wolf.

In school, Dean had been everything Pike wasn't. He was handsome and outgoing and athletic. He'd had Henry under his spell; it was only fair, Pike thought, since he'd been equally entranced by Henry. He'd been charming and sincere, and Pike had liked him just as much as everyone else.

As adults, there were days when Pike could have dinner with Dean, Anna and Henry, and Henry's hand on his shoulder would help him forget. And there were days when he thought about watching Henry race down to the lake with Dean holding back to not catch him, both of them laughing. He remembered Henry tossing himself in the water half-dressed like he didn't care about clothes anyway, and Dean following him in like he didn't care about anything but Henry.

It felt wrong, sometimes, that they were split up like this. It was strange that Henry had ridden over to Grace's in Pike's truck, would ride home with him, would kiss him good night like he didn't want anyone else.

Pike wasn't used to having what he'd dreamed of. Sometimes he worried that Dean wasn't used to much of anything else.

"I like watching them play together," Dean said. He gestured out into the yard with a plastic fork. "Henry, he's, uh. He's good family." He smiled a little awkwardly.

The sun was setting. Grace's lamps shone through the dusk, bathing everyone in a sweet, warm light. The boys were busy howling under Becky's tutelage, and Henry was laughing, sitting with his knees crooked and his arms bent over them. He looked tousled and happy.

Pike smiled back, took the plate, even though he didn't really need or want another shortcake; Grace had stuffed them full already.

"I like it too," Pike said, accepting Dean's words for what they meant.

Dean's smile widened, surprised but happy. He gestured with his fork to the dessert on Pike's plate and Pike nodded, picked up his own fork.

They sat in a silence that gradually got more and more comfortable, eating shortcake together, until Henry came up onto the deck and leaned his hip against Pike. He stole a strawberry, then crossed his arms easily over his chest.

"The transition from kids to wolves is surprisingly easy for that gang," he said as Ben, Andrew and Becky chased each other around, howling and yipping.

"I like the change from wolves to friends," Pike said. He smiled down at his empty plate when Dean agreed, laughing, and Henry draped an arm over his shoulder, hand sliding under his hair.

~

After dinner they sat in Pike's truck outside Henry's house and necked like kids.

"I love making out in the truck," Henry said, satisfaction in his voice and in the easy grip of his hand on Pike's shoulder. "This is all the fun I never had as a teenager."

Pike just touched him, lightly, gently.

"Tell me about you." Henry's grip tightened. "Tell me about your time in the cab of your father's truck--who did you make out with? Rita Lloyd? She had a thing for you back then."

"Not Rita," Pike said.

"Bruce Hightower?" Henry's smile went a little nostalgic. "Bruce Hightower was good at trucks, if I remember the rumors correctly. Not that I experienced it personally--he always did like boys a little, well. More like you than like me."

Pike looked at him. The stars overhead shone clear and cool, and the moon was a sleek sliver of light over the water. Henry watched him expectantly, and Pike watched him back, waiting for the realization to hit him.

And then it did, slow and sure. "Ah," Henry said. He squeezed Pike's shoulder, then took his hand away. "No one, Pike? For all that time?"

"I was...waiting," Pike said, looking away. "And." He took a deep breath. He wanted to let go of his grip on Henry, to make it easy for Henry to get loose if the idea of Pike's inexperience bothered him. He didn't let himself let go, though; he was learning, trying, day by day. "And no one ever really. Wanted me."

"Oh Pike," Henry said, his voice soft and steady. "I'm so sorry you felt that way."

Pike shrugged one shoulder. "Truth isn't a feeling."

"And sometimes feelings aren't truth." Henry smiled, then touched Pike's jaw, urging him to look up before Henry leaned forward. He kissed Pike lightly and Pike kissed him back; some things, after time, had become more instinct than thought.

But when Henry's kiss intensified, when Henry pushed Pike's shoulder back and climbed over to straddle him, kneeling up with his head almost hitting the roof of the truck, Pike shifted underneath him, nervous.

"You were wanted, Pike," Henry said, a little roughly. "You're wanted now--I don't think I've been too subtle about that, have I?"

And no, subtle wasn't the word; cautious wasn't the word; anxious wasn't the word; there wasn't a word for what Henry had been since the day he stayed. There wasn't a word for what Henry had become.

"If I was wrong in thinking you needed more time, if I made this harder on you," Henry said, kissing him, his lips and then his jaw, "I'm sorry and I take it back. I'll jump you right from the beginning. From right after we threw away the last of Mrs. Thayer's pancakes."

"The beginning's a lot earlier than that, for me," Pike said. He stilled Henry's wandering hands in his. "I don't need--I was giving you--I thought you needed...more time. To get over things, maybe."

Henry searched his eyes and Pike knew the moonlight was bright enough that he could see everything, that he saw it reflected back at him. He settled down in Pike's lap, weight slight and warm across the suddenly-tight denim covering Pike's thighs, and he smiled. "We should go to bed. Don't you think it's time we went to bed?"

Pike touched his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Henry leaned into his hand, watching him. He had waited a long time for the moment when Henry would finally ask him this; he'd waited and stayed patient, and hoped that eventually this half-formed, dizzying dream would come true.

Henry watched him while Pike thought about what he wanted and what it would mean to have it. Then Pike took a slow, deep breath and said, "Yeah. I think it's time."

~

Henry unbuttoned Pike's shirt, pushed it off his shoulders. He gathered the hem of Pike's tank out from under the waistband of his jeans and tugged it up. His knuckles brushed against Pike's ribs in a way that made him suck in his breath, edgy and almost afraid. He raised his arms and let Henry toss the tank aside, let his breath out again when Henry's hands settled on his waist.

"You should spend more time with your shirt off," Henry told him, all crooked smile and warm eyes. "At the store, around town. At home."

Pike didn't know what to say to that, but he'd learned that when he was speechless, he could kiss Henry, and sometimes that was enough. He'd been grateful to learn that speech wasn't always necessary, that bodies said a lot when you were paying attention to them.

Henry touched his shoulders, his sides, curled his fingers into Pike's belt loops. "Can we take these off too?" he whispered in between kisses.

Pike hesitated, then stepped back. Henry watched him, lips parted, eyes wide. Pike couldn't keep his focus if he watched Henry watching him. He was afraid he'd lose control and either walk out the door or collapse onto his knees, bury his face against Henry, and breathe him in until morning. He looked down at his own hands as he slowly unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, slid them off his hips and to the floor.

And got tripped up by his boots.

Henry laughed quietly. "Here," he said, coming closer. "Let me help you," and it was Henry who went down onto his knees. He moved slowly, looking up at Pike, who froze, unable to look away.

"No reason to panic," Henry reassured him, amused. He undid the laces on Pike's left boot without looking away. "Put your hand on my shoulder. Lift your foot. Thank you."

"Henry--"

"Don't," Henry said. "It's okay. The other one now."

And then Pike was naked before another person, another man, for the first time in his adult life.

Henry rested his hands on his thighs for a moment, then put one on Pike's hip, used that to boost himself back to his feet. He drew Pike closer and Pike held his breath at the feel of Henry's clothes against his skin.

"Thank you," Henry said again, and he meant it so sincerely that Pike just shook his head, unable to believe his own good luck; unable to deny that this was happening.

"You now," Pike said. He had to clear his throat; his voice was almost gone, low and rasping in his chest.

Henry's smile was sweet, quirking across his face, gentle and kind. "Yeah," he said. "My turn."

~

When Pike didn't know what to do with his hands, Henry knew; "Help me with this?" he asked, and guided Pike's fingers down the row of buttons on his shirt; "Here," he said, and let Pike slowly undo the buckle of his belt.

Henry's face was flushed, his breath coming fast, when Pike unzipped his jeans. Pike felt like his own face was as red as the sun at dusk on a hot day. He watched his fingers pushing clothing off Henry's body, baring pale skin and light hair and tight nipples, a solid erection tenting green boxers.

He wondered at himself; at the heat radiating through his body; at his hands, not fumbling even though he was so excited and a little worried; at the shapes of his body against Henry's. His fingers seemed long and somehow pretty against Henry's skin. The backs of his hands looked square and heavy as he skimmed his palms over Henry's ribs, his belly.

"Kiss me?" Henry asked, and Pike wouldn't have said no anyway; couldn't, with Henry's face turned up to his, nervous and smiling and pink with excitement.

Kissing was so familiar now, so comfortable and known, that it settled some of his worry. He wrapped his arm behind Henry's back, feeling bare skin and the way Henry's chest expanded when he took in a fast breath. He felt the movement of Henry's muscles when he stretched up into the kiss, deepening it, his arms holding onto Pike so tightly it seemed for a moment like they'd stay that way forever, always holding each other.

It settled Pike somewhat, but he couldn't have said whether it had settled or unsettled Henry, when he broke the kiss abruptly and leaned back just a little.

Henry was breathing hard. Pike spread his fingers out across Henry's skin, briefly amazed by how much he could touch at once, how broad his hand was against Henry's back.

"Pike," Henry said. "Can I ask you for something?" He met Pike's eyes and then looked away, again, quick flickers of eye contact, as if he was a little afraid to say what he wanted. He smiled, but it trembled in the corners of his lips.

Pike got distracted for a moment by the sweetness of Henry's mouth, the deeply-kissed color of it and the gleam of moisture, but Henry's quick intake of breath drew his attention back to Henry's eyes.

"I'd like you to make love to me," Henry said, very quietly.

Pike's gut clenched with heat, with desire, with fear and with the sense that he shouldn't. That making love to Henry was beyond his capabilities somehow; that if he couldn't dance with Henry, he certainly couldn't--

He took a step back, afraid.

Henry took a step forward, anxiety in the shape of his smile, no more used to asking than Pike was used to giving; bravery in the way his hands fell on Pike's biceps and held. "It's what I want," Henry said, looking at him steadily now. "Please."

And Pike said, "You'll. You'll have to teach me how," because he couldn't resist when Henry said please that way; soft and sincere and almost sad somehow, as if he was half-certain of rejection. Henry should never have to be afraid of that, of Pike rejecting him. He should never have to be afraid of Pike not trying when he knew that all Henry would ever demand from him was an honest attempt.

"I can," Henry promised. His hands slid down Pike's arms to link their fingers. "I can. I promise I will."

~

For days afterward, Pike would suddenly be struck by images--his hands on Henry in the moonlight, Henry's body glowing like his paintings did, like he was lit up from inside somehow. Henry's hands on him, knowing and careful, teaching Pike things Henry liked and helping Pike figure out how he liked them, too. He'd think of Henry's hand on his cock, grip slow and tight and wet with lubricant. He'd think of his own hands between Henry's thighs, touching lightly while Henry reassured him, touching more wildly when Henry lost his focus and just seemed to want to feel.

He thought about the sensation of Henry settling into his lap, Pike sliding deep inside him while Henry wrapped his arms around Pike's shoulders and gasped into his ear. He thought about that a lot.

And when he thought about it, he wanted it again.

~

"I'm not hurting you?" he asked, hardly recognizing the sound of his own voice, barely caring.

"No," Henry said, then kissed the side of his neck. "Stop worrying--I won't let you, I promise--" and his hips pushed back against the cautious grip of Pike's hands. Pike let him go, and Henry rose up a little, then sank back down.

Pike held him tighter, involuntarily, hands tightening without his permission. He quickly loosened his grip but Henry gasped, "No, hold onto me." One of his hands came down to encourage Pike to hold him.

"Henry--"

Henry shook his head. "Look at me," he said, and Pike looked up from his hands so tight on Henry's hips. His eyes were dark and wide, glazed and distant somehow, but his face was full of pleasure. "You're okay," Henry told him. "You really are."

His hips shifted and Pike could see his focus shattering; like when he'd had Pike's fingers on him, inside him, Henry was gone.

But he was erect and wet against Pike's belly when he slid up, and he gasped softly he settled himself again. Pike held him, held him tight, his hipbones sharp under Pike's thumbs, his muscles flexing under Pike's fingers.

Pike watched him and realized just how sincerely Henry meant it; how much he wanted this and how good it felt for him. He let himself relax just a little against the headboard of Henry's old bed.

And in relaxing he felt, truly felt, how tight and hot Henry was around him. He felt how graceful and eager his body was against Pike's, how generous Henry was with all of his pleasure, humming in Pike's ear, touching his shoulders and chest, saying his name.

"Touch me," Henry said. His voice had gone so low that Pike almost didn't hear him. He was already touching himself, hand sliding loosely along his cock, and it wasn't hard to figure out what he wanted. Pike nudged his hand out of the way and Henry braced his arm back over Pike's shoulder, shuddering when Pike brushed the head with his thumb.

He didn't know where to look--at Henry's face, lost with pleasure? Or his thighs, splayed over Pike's? The head of his cock gleaming over the edge of Pike's hand? He tried to memorize all of it, everything, every detail of sight and smell and sensation, until Henry's rhythm faltered and his head fell forward against Pike's shoulder. He set his teeth against Pike's skin and came with a soft, glad sound.

Pike held him then, a little unsure; what should he do with his hands? He settled for wiping one on his own thigh, and drew Henry against him in a careful hug. Should he move Henry up? Should he rock his hips? He was still hard; harder than he could remember ever being, really, but didn't want to do anything about it until he knew what Henry wanted.

Just when he was starting to get uncomfortable, Henry murmured something against the side of his neck. He resettled himself, pulling off with a swivel of his hips that made Pike hiss in pleasure.

"Beautiful," Henry said; he was both paying attention to Pike then, and not, almost talking to himself. He stripped the condom off Pike's cock, then wrapped a hand around him and lightly jerked him off; it was more of a tease than anything that would solve Pike's problem. His hips pushed forward but he controlled the urge. He bit his lip and turning his head away to keep from watching Henry touch him.

Henry looked up. "You really are gorgeous." He sounded tired and happy. His thighs against Pike's weren't entirely steady. But his hand kept moving and his other arm stayed wrapped around Pike, keeping them close together. "You've been so gorgeous. I can't believe you're here."

"You can't believe it?" Pike said. He gasped as Henry twisted his grip. His hips pushed forward again, and it was the renewed tightness of his hands on Henry that kept him steady.

Henry laughed a little, breathless, and Pike looked at him; he couldn't resist that sound. Henry looked mischievous and sweaty, aroused and sated, pleased, hungry. "I think I know a way to help us both believe," he said. He moved down Pike's legs, still jerking him, but giving himself enough room to lean forward and set his teeth lightly against Pike's nipple.

And that broke the last shred of Pike's control. The light scrape of Henry's teeth had him groaning and spreading his thighs, knees jerking up. He curled into Henry even as he stared wide-eyed at the curl of Henry's body over his.

Henry was laughing still, gently. He said, "Oh, you liked that, did you?" as he moved to bite Pike's other nipple just as lightly.

Pike did like it, liked it more than he'd have ever thought; he'd touched himself before, pinched his own nipples while he masturbated, thinking of everything and no one at all; he'd never imagined that the feel of a hand on his cock, hairy legs against his own, teeth on his nipple and breath panted out against his skin--

He shouted, an unintelligible noise that he wanted to be Henry's name but couldn't shape, and came; shaking, undone, remade.

~

"The youngest Thayer boy saw your truck at the Harts' last night," Jim said, brim of his cap tipped down. His beaming smile was only half-hidden behind an old copy of People magazine.

"Yeah," Pike said, turning apples in a display. He was thinking about apple pie, and his truck in the Harts' driveway, and Henry's body pressed tight to his in Henry's warm bed.

"Saw it still there myself this morning."

"Nosy," Pike said.

"Happy," Jim said, looking up. It was halfway to being a question, but Jim wasn't hiding his smile anymore.

"Yeah," Pike said, and smiled too. "I'd say so, yeah."

~

Afterward, for days afterward, for weeks--Pike thought a lot about Henry, and the way he moved.

He thought about it every free moment at the store, at the stove, in his truck when he really should have been thinking about fog on the early morning curves of the road. When he was walking Frances by the lake at dusk while Henry sat on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, waiting for them to come back, Pike thought about him.

He thought about Henry coming to orgasm in his arms, painting in the sunshine, playing and swimming and moving, quietly physical and warmly alive.

"You boys want to come over tonight?" Wheeler asked, putting down his cards; he was losing to himself at solitaire. "The wife's got some new recipe for you to try. Something baked fish something something lemon, I don't even think that's the half of it. She wanted me to ask you."

Pike thought about Henry smiling at him from across the Wheelers' table, and about Henry biting his lip when Pike slid inside him.

"Not tonight," he said, and smiled. "But thank you. Maybe tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow it is." Wheeler picked up his cards again. "But I know that look on a young man's face, son. You go on home now. There's time enough for our ugly mugs later, and we know where you hid the key."

"Yeah," Pike said. He stood and whistled for Frances, who trotted out from the kitchen and came to heel, happy to be going home. Pike scratched her behind the ears and thought of Henry tripping over her in the middle of the night, laughing and cursing and trying to be quiet, and he said, "I think there's something it's time I did."

~

"Will you teach me how to dance?" Pike asked when he came home from the store and found Henry humming and painting in the kitchen, of all places.

And Henry looked up with that smile, the one Pike didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing directed at him, but thought he could be patient enough to try and find out. Henry put down his paintbrush, opened his arms, and said, "Of course."


End file.
